


The Praxian

by siriuslyfeisty



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-02-04 09:53:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12768501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuslyfeisty/pseuds/siriuslyfeisty
Summary: Who will want the unwanted? Who will love thge unloved?Who will help the helpless? Not many, sadly. In Prowls case a good few care. From being nearly extinguished as a newspark to abuse and illegal activity who will come to his rescue and pull him out of despair? Originally written by Autobot Chromia, who gave permission for it to be rewritten.





	1. Chapter 1

 

Chapter One

 

 

“Where is she!?” The doors to the Iacon General Emergency Room burst open. A nurse swung round, his optics wide. “Sir, please - ”

Demon ignored him, the sounds of frantic families crying and screaming filled his audials, but he paid them no heed. He ran through the ER, his optics franticly searching for her.

“Clouddust!”

Dropping his tray at the loud bellow, the head nurse spun to intercept the other mech, “This is a hospital!” He barked at him taking hold of the distraught mech’s arms, “You must return to the waiting room!” Keeping his optics on him, he shouted, “Security!”

The black Praxian twisted and with surprising strength flung the nurse off him, pinning him, his armor scraping painfully on the wall as he stared in shock into the red optics burning through him as the other leaned close to hiss malevolently into his audio, “Where is she?” His fingers slowly tightening on the other’s throat.

Choking and scrabbling desperately at the hands holding him the nurse felt his optics dimming. “I don’t.. Don’t know… “ he gasped as he fell into a disorganized heap on the floor of the emergency ward, clutching his throat as he gasped for air. He watched through optics that slowly dimmed to black as the black pedes ran off down the hall.

No… he reached after the fearless red and black femme as she ran past him, as one of the emergency room medics knelt beside him before it all went completely black….

***

Demon shuddered as he left the green and white nurse to gasp on the floor behind him… The cryptic message he had received a bare twenty breems ago ricocheted in his helm…  
‘Accident on intersection 548: Clouddust taken to Iacon General Hospital. Critical.’

“Sir? Sir!” the sharp voice of yet another nurse snapped, her soft pede steps darting after him. “Sir, you can’t go in there! Security!” She cried, skittering around the corner.

Demon ignored her, as he had disregarded the others, sprinting through the maze of hallways, glancing into every cubicle. Where are you? The bright fluorescent lights pierced his optics; the cacophony of sounds maddening. His vents heaved, his intakes burned.

He had to find Clouddust. He had to find his mate. He slid to a halt at the end of the corridor. Where are you? He ran a hand over his helm, doorwings spread wide and jerking slightly as he realized she was here too.

He spun around, optics narrowing as he focused on the black and red femme. “Where is she?!” he snarled, stalking closer, his armor flaring and door wings flaring as he loomed over her.

She marched towards him unconcerned about her personal safety, even as he growled a clear warning at her. A deep scowl marring her faceplates, “Surgery. Room 005. Demon, you can’t…” she rolled her optics in frustration and huffed as the upset agent ran off down the brightly lit hallway and proceeded to follow him at a more sedate pace, waving the security mechs off as they ran up with weapons drawn.

“I’ll deal of him,” She growled, pinging her identification to the head of security.

Demon ignored her and the commotion he left behind as he bolted towards the room.

003…004…005!

Demon flung the door of the operating room open, ignoring it as it hit the wall, denting it from the force of his entry. A nurse yelped and dropped his tool as the door ricocheted closed behind the intruder.

The world stopped as chaos greeted his optics. Five mechs hovering about a table, yelling at each other, demanding tools, glancing at beeping, screaming monitors… His spark stopped beating as he stood, frozen in time.

An orange-painted medic glanced up quickly at the intrusion and spotted him where he stood frozen in the doorway, burning red optics staring at the scene.

“What’s he doing here? Nurse, get him out!” the head medic barked, his hands still buried in the open chest plates of the delicate femme’s crushed frame.

As if spurred back to life by his words, Demon launched forward. “Clouddust!” He cried at the greying form of his mate, one hand desperately stretched out to touch her one last time.

Strong arms grabbed him from behind, he twisted, but as if the arms expected it, they held tight and pulled him out.

"Sparkling extracted!" He saw a small form, limbs dangling lifelessly down, taken from his mate's darkening sparkchamber, quickly brought to be held close to the orange-mech's chassis.... The medics finally forced him out into the hallway, the door slamming shut in front of his stunned optics and the sound of the lock clicking echoing in his audios. Venting heavily, he slowly backed away from the closed door.

She was gone.... With a roar of pain he spun and punched the wall behind him hard enough to leave a dent. He leaned against it, vents stuttering. It had to be a bad memory flux. Maybe he was being tortured….or his processor was being manipulated. Yes. Yes. This wasn’t real. He wiped a hand down his face.

Leaning against the nearby wall, Flamewar crossed her arms, a disapproving frown marring her beautiful faceplates as she watched the black mech through her cold optics.

Optics shuttering, Demon slumped against the cool wall, the bright lights of the hospital burning his optics. Remembering the last time he saw her… The fight they had…. Yelling at her... you knew what I was when we got together... What is different now? Her sharp reply ringing in his audios then and now, "I'm having a sparkling, Barricade! That changes everything!" Her optics had flashed dangerously, proud doorwings snapping high to frame her helm in her increasing agitation...

“What are you thinking, Demon?” Flamewar’s voice cut through his last memory of her.

Snapping his optics online, he spun to face the red and black femme, snarling, fists clenched.

“Excuse me,” the orange medic interjected, breaking their tense glares with the fearlessness of all senior medics. “The sparkling is functioning, with assistance.” he calmly informed them, his field reaching out in a failed attempt to comfort the distraught sire.

“I can’t… I can’t take care of him.” As the Agent slowly shook his helm backing away from him, from his sympathetic field... “I can’t... “ Venting heavily, he growled, clamping his armor, his door wings flicked sharply before settling high to frame his blazing optics. “Take him off the ventilator. If he terminates, then it wasn’t meant to be.” He paused, venting. “If he functions, then take care of him.” he ordered his handler, his as fists relaxed and clenched unnoticed at his sides.

Gently placing his hand on the Agent’s shoulder he squeezed it reassuringly.. “Sir…” He protested gently. Primus, field agents. He's in no state to be making decisions like this. He gave the agent's handler a questioning look.

“No… I can’t.” Demon spun on his heel and rushed out, leaving his mate’s empty frame and her beloved creation to the care of others. He couldn’t…not right now…not with what he was. :Her family will take him. Her brother, Sliverstreak. In Praxus. Take care of it, Flamewar. I have a job to do.: He ordered as he sent her the comm codes. He never looked back.

Venting tiredly the orange medic shot Flamewar a questioning look. “What should I do?” He queried softly, optics following the sire as he fled the hall.

“Do as he says.” She snapped. “Take it off life support and Comm me with a status report.” Spinning on her heel, she stalked after her agent with a faint frown on her faceplates, raising a hand to her helm as a comm filtered through.

“Very well,” muttered the doctor with darkening optics as he watched the two leave, unaware of the sire’s silent order to the uncaring femme.

A young pink and white femme clutched her armload of laundry tighter to her frame, unseen and unremarked on just around the corner from the family and the head medic. Trembling, chewing her lower lip, as she inched down the cold hall after the medic. She watched him enter a private room not far away.

Slowly she returned to her assigned task, carefully replenishing each room with soft clothes and checking on the patients in each one. Several joors later she slipped from the last room and saw the senior medic rush out of the room the sparkling was in, his hand to his helm as he answered a frantic comm from his staff, another life desperately needing his attention.

Angelbane’s light armor clamped as she slipped into the sparkling’s room, quiet as a shadow and looked down at him, risking a single shaking digit to stroke his tiny forehelm. He was such a cute little thing.

“How could anyone want to get rid of you?” She cooed to the helpless newspark, who recharged on peacefully, unaware of the fate decided by his surviving creator.

Gently she stroked the tiny helm, her optics hardening with resolve. “I won’t let them hurt you.”

Carefully she reached down and plucked the fragile frame up, bundling some soft clothes tightly around him. If any mech ever found out she did this…She ruthlessly stomped the thought down. She was in this field to save lives and that was what she was doing.

“Shu,shu” she cooed and pressed him to her chest. “Don't you worry, my little sweetling. Angelbane's going to take care of you.” Nervously she looked around, and scooted away quickly down the hallway, dodging other mechanisms as they went about their business.

“Hey! Angelbane!” She cringed at the shout, holding the still recharging newspark close to her chest. She chanced a quick look down, making sure the sparkling’s face was covered…. She was just carrying some soiled clothes after all ….

“I’m sorry, Featherlight, I can’t stay and chat. I have to finish…” she trailed off, still inching her way down the hall, optics lowered so the other couldn’t see them… Oh, please.. Primus...

“It’s ok, Angelbane. Just wanted to tell you a few of us are meeting after shift at the bar…” the mauve femme smiled gently at her shy collague.

“I have to meet my brother,” she whispered nervously. “Maybe next time?”

“Sure, next time.” Smiling at her, the other femme trotted off.

Ducking her helm, she slipped from the hospital and swiftly transformed, placing the sparkling in her carryhold. He whined unhappily in her cab, cold and hungry and tired of being disturbed from his recharge.

“Shu, it won't be long now.” She whispered to him as she maneuvered skillfully through the city streets. “I know a place where they'll take you, no questions asked. You'll be safe there, I promise.”

The petite white and pink femme drove for quite a while before she reached the orphanage. It was in a small community outside of Iacon. Transforming, she carried the tiny bundle inside the building.

Flora stared at the nervous little femme carrying a newly separated sparkling from behind her desk. “Do you need help?” she asked briskly as she rose to her pedes with a slight frown.

“Yes,” Anglebane whispered. “I can't keep 'im. Please, help 'im.”

“Fill this out,” The dark green femme scooped up a datapad and thrust it at the shaking femme with the sparkling.

Angelbane stared at the datapad in confusion, holding it limply in one hand as she clutched the whimpering bundle close to her spark.

“It’s a surrender of custody,” snapped Flora, tapping her pede while glaring at the femme before her.

“Oh, ok.” Angelbane thrust the sparkling at Flora and quickly filled out the form. She gave the little bundle one last glance before dropping the datapad on the desk and fleeing.

Cycling her optics, the older femme scooped up the datapad in disgust, it wasn't even properly filled out, “I'm going to have to finish it.” huffing, she carried the sparkling into a back room and set him down in an empty crib, scuttling away before returning with some sparkling grade energon. “Who knows when you last ate, if she even bothered to feed you.” she vented, aspirated, frowning down at the little form struggling weakly to feed himself.

“Too young for a sparkling, your carrier was.” She told him, as she lifted the tiny form, assisting him as he fueled. She studied the tiny form curled in her arms. “Aren't you a cute little thing. I'll get you taken care of.” She ran her hand down his back, studying the little wing nubs. “One way or another, we'll take care of you.”

She put the sparkling into a nearby crib and moved away as he settled into a nap, to file what little information the femme had left. She already knew it was worthless to try to contact her to finish filling out the forms, she'd just have to do it herself. Shaking her helm as she filled out the fields she’d left blank...These youngsters, they get into trouble, they need more help then just surrendering their sparklings. But there is nothing out there to help them….

Her harsh faceplates softened into a slight smile. “Humph. She gave you a name, at least, Prowl. It’s more than what a lot of them give their sparklings.”

*****

With a deep scowl the doctor frantically activated the comm link :Agent Flamewar?:

:What is the status on the sparkling, Doctor?:

He pinched his olfactory before venting deeply. :He’s gone.:

:Terminated?:

:No. Missing.: He paused to gather his thoughts. :We looked every where for him. Security has no idea how this could have happened. We will contact the Enforcers immediately. :

There was a heavy pause before she spoke again. :No. Who ever took it wants it. Good enough.:

Momentarily stunned silent at her calloused disregard, he made no move as the line was cut. Growling, he glared at the security director standing in front of his desk. “Never again. Whatever you need to do, do it. This will never happen again. I will not “lose” another sparkling. "

Slowly the medic sunk back in his chair, and buried his face in his hands. This mess will haunt me forever.

****

Rolling his shoulders, Demon arrogantly flexed his doorwings as he stalked down the hallway, cold red optics flicking from side to side as he scanned his surroundings. He callously pushed all thoughts of his mate… oh Clouddust… to the back of his processor as he smirked at the approaching mech and his burden.

“Demon,” Lockdown greeted him with a bloodthirsty smile as he joined him, “It has been a while.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next installment of the early years of Prowl's life. Some parts may be triggery for some readers, contains non-graphic child abuse and neglect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by nikkie2010, thank you my friend, for your assistance.

The Praxian Chapter 2

Helm snapping up sharply, Flora’s soft smile dipped down into a frown as the front door was flung open and a youngling shot in, the distant sounds of traffic permeating the silence of the front office. 

“Back again, are you?” Her optics narrowed slightly at him, all the while forcing her voice to be nonchalant as she looked up from her reports at the taller form that followed.

The slender black and white Praxian youngling, almost running into the lobby, didn't look up, neither did he speak as he rushed past her and into the dubious safety of the orphanage itself with long familiarity. His drooping doorwings trembled uncontrollably on his back. 

The dark blue and gold mech tiredly followed the youngling into the office, allowing the door to fall closed behind him, cutting off the sounds of the world beyond the orphanage. “I’m sorry.” He quipped. “He’s just not a good fit with us.” His optics moved from image to image on the walls, each one showing happy, smiling faces, finally coming to rest on Flora’s face before dropping down to her cluttered desk.

Rubbing her hand over her helm, Flora yanked the top drawer open and reached for some non-descript data pads in the desk. The other’s optics followed her hand’s path across the desk. “I have others that need homes, if you’re willing to try again.” She offered hopefully, her tone light despite the small, barely detectable tremble.

Hesitantly, he met her optics, then smiled slightly. “Yes… yes, I think we’d like to. Can you send a few profiles home with me and we’ll let you know? We still would like to foster, just maybe one that is a bit… younger?” His optics flashed slightly as he looked down the brightly lit hallway that the young Praxian had disappeared down.

Nodding briskly, Flora transferred several other youngling’s profiles onto a minimally scruffed datapad. “I do appreciate your willingness to try again. Not all younglings are a good match for every family. Sometimes it takes a bit of work to find the right one.” Rising to her pedes, she handed him the data pad, practiced smile pasted on her face. “There's no shame in admitting a youngling isn't a good fit for your family,” she said softly. “We'd rather ensure everyone is happy.”

Smiling ever so slightly at her, the mech dipped his helm and replied, “Thank you for being so understanding.” Carefully tucking the data pad into his subspace, he turned on his heel and made tracks out of the orphanage.

As soon as the door closed on the mech’s aft, Flora’s warm smile morphed into a frown, growling, “Frag it, Prowl!” Dropping into her chair, she picked up some data pads, shuffling them around her desk as her thoughts tumbled. She picked up several more data pads, scanning quickly through them before dropping them to her desk. The femme dropped her helm to her hands as she thought, staring sightlessly at the cluttered desk. The other potential families. There are no good matches. Rubbing her optics tiredly she debated, hesitated, then finally opened a much despised comm link. 

“Yeah, Flora?”

“I have one for you. Praxian.” Flora’s spark shrank as she heard the coarse voice. The thought flitted through her processor that she shouldn’t, that she should stop…but this was the arrangement she'd made to pay her mates gambling debts. No matter how unsavoury it was… And Blackout did try to send them to good homes.

“Really?” Slipknot’s voice sharpened with interest. “I’ll be there the next orn to pick him up.”

“He’ll be ready.” She briskly cut the line. She swallowed and drew a deep vent, shoving her personal feelings into the deepest, darkest corner of her spark. That family was your last chance, Prowl. You really gave me no other choice.

***

Prowl onlined his optics. The old, familiar, white walls of the dormitory greeted him with its neat line of berths packed in tight to accommodate as many younglings as possible. Prowl slipped soundlessly from his berth. Slinking past the other recharging younglings, he skimmed over to a sealed window with bars over it. He touched the bars gently. They were supposedly to keep the bad mechs out – but Prowl knew the truth. They were to keep younglings in. 

Escaping was the last thing on his processor, however. Where on Cybertron would he go? The sun rose slowly, brightening even the dim room he shared with the others. It's bright rays inching over the still silent room. In a few klicks this stolen time would be full of noise and brightness and everything else that was distracting and annoying.

“Good orn, Prowl!” A bright young voice came chirping out of the silence behind him.

Jumping with surprise, Prowl whipped around to stare wide opticed at the intruder, pressing his back painfully against the window frame. “Wildside!” 

The pretty green femme bounced on her pede-tips energetically beside him, barely glancing out the window before focusing on him.

“Guess what I heard?”

“I cannot even begin.” The doorwings spasmed in a strange pattern, trackable almost, if one cared to pay attention. 

“Prowl!” they spun as one to see a black and rose mech striding toward them through the chaos of younglings getting ready for the orn. “You have an interview with a prospective adopter in 1 breem. Get cleaned up, now.” he barked over the racket.

“Wow, that was quick.” Wildside whistled softly.

Flinching back again, Prowl’s doorwings, still twitching erratically, commanded Midnight’s attention. “Stop doing that, you want to get fostered, right?” Not waiting for a response, he grabbed the immobile youngling’s arm and hauled the stumbling youngster to the wash racks.

****

“Whatcha got for me, Flora?”

Frowning over her shoulder, she led the creepy orange mech through her orphanage, “I’ll give you the details in the interview room. Primus, Slipknot, you could at least have put on some polish instead of looking like some Junkion.” Her optics narrowed at the creature invading her space. She really had made a deal with Unicron’s spawn, if this errand mech was anything to go by.

Rolling his optics at her formality, he dutifully followed her into the room. “Ahhh, such comfortable chairs.” He drawled as he slouched into a hard, wooden chair. 

Straightening her back, she shut the door firmly behind them.

“Here,” She threw a datapad at him. “He’s a first stage youngling, Praxian type.”

“Really?” Slipknot straightened in his seat. “What’s wrong with him? He should have foster families standing in line to get him.” He raised an optic ridge at her, the corners of his lips tilting up as his optics scanned the datapad.

She cycled her optics. “He has issues.”

Frowning, he flicked his optics up at her, “Can he work? Able to do manual labor?”

“Yes, and yes. He’s a good worker, willing, and stays focused on a task until he’s done. He just has personality issues.”

“Well, that won’t matter anymore.” Shrugging, Slipknot leaned back in his chair thoughtfully, staring at the youngling’s image. 

“He untouched?”

Flaring her lightwieght armour, her face scrunching up. “Of course!” She shook her helm, then stilled as her expression blanked. “Wait…what!? How could you…?! To Even…suggest?” she sputtered.

Snickering he airily waved a rusty orange hand. “Oh, settle down, femme. He’s worth more untouched than already broken in. And you know, just wondering if he had those kind of issues.”

With a furious growl, she stepped away from him as a knock came at the door. Yanking the door open, she glared at the innocent youngling in front of her. “It's about time!” grabbing his forearm she dragged him to a seat across from Slipknot and pushed him into it. 

“Slipknot, this is Prowl. Prowl, Slipknot. I’ll leave you two to become better acquainted.” Glaring at the obnoxious mech over Prowl’s helm, she spun on her heel and with helm held high strode proudly out the door.

Prowl sat frozen in place, except for his doorwings which he just couldn't stop from twitching. The soft lighting in the familiar room once felt warm and inviting. Now it only felt cold. There was a small table and some chairs… He had been in here so many times before. A family would come and say they wanted someone, him maybe. They would take him home, the foster creators about as excited as a youngling with a new toy. Then, like a toy, he would become old. If not, they would find out that he was already broken and bring him back.

It was always the same thing over and over, Prowl thought as he considered the mech sitting at the table across from him. He was alone, which was a surprise in itself. He’d never been interviewed by just one foster creator before. The mech’s offensively bright orange paint caused him to flinch slightly back, rubbing his optics. The older mech’s red optics followed the movement. 

Prowl jumped as the datapad was slapped down on the table. “Stand up.” 

Blinking slowly, Prowl considered the odd request.

“Stand up.” Slipknot snarled, his armour flaring slightly as he leaned forward in his chair to glare at Prowl, optics coldly locked on the frightened youngling.

Prowl cringed back into his chair, staring wide opticed at the strange mech. Even his ever mobile doorwings paused, flaring slightly.

Slipknot rose and with one step closed the distance between them. Grabbing Prowl’s forearm, he yanked the unresisting youngling to his pedes and pulled him to the center of the room.

“Stay.” He barked. 

Prowl felt a full frame shiver, from his helm to his pedes and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Arms down,” came the mocking voice from the mech who was now behind him.

Slowly lowering his arms, Prowl shuttered his optics at the intrusive inspection. The odd mech wasn’t touching him, but he was being studied as if he was some specimen displayed in a shopkeeper’s window - from pedes to helm. 

Slipknot grunted and tossed the data pad in his hands to the desk. “You’ll do. Let's go.” he grunted, walking towards the door.

“Yes, sir,” Prowl mumbled, studying his pedes intently, this interview has been strange. Very strange. He swallowed as tendrils of nervousness wound around his tank. His little wings began trembling.

Slipknot snorted, and jerked his helm at Prowl, “Well, then, get a move on. FLORA!”

Flora stepped from around the corner, an irritated frown on her faceplates. “Must you shout, Slipknot?”

As the mech smirked at her, Prowl followed him slowly from the room, trembling.

Prowl looked up at Flora, his optics wide. His youngling armour was tight to his frame. Shivering, he hugged himself. “Should I get my things?” he whispered, dark, fearful optics locked on her as his field fluctuated uncontrollably against hers.

“Yes.” She stepped away from the frightened field, the nervous stare. Her back to Prowl, she called curtly over her shoulder. “Hurry up.” she spun on her heels, pulling her field in tight as she strode down the brightly lit hallway. Swallowing down her morning energon, her tanks roiling with self disgust. She would burn in the pit for all eternity for doing this, and she had no doubts that she deserved it.

Trembling, arms still wrapped tightly about himself, his last touch of her field feeling her disgust, Prowl slowly walked back to his berth for his few possessions.

“You have another host creator?” Wildside, again. How the young femme kept sneaking up behind him eluded him, but he had bigger worries. She flopped down on the Praxian youngling’s berth as he picked up his few bookfiles, stuffing them haphazardly into his bag. He paused and bit his lip, swallowing. Cycling his optics quickly he dumped them out on his berth and then carefully sorted them to put neatly into his bag. He couldn’t stop his hands shaking as much as his little wings trembled.

Wildside cocked her helm at him, watching with optics that knew too much for her tender age. “I can’t believe you’ve got another host family already. Usually you’re back for at least a decaorn before they have someone else for you!” She reached for the bag and carefully wrapped it up, making sure his precious book files wouldn't fall out. 

Prowl’s doorwings flared and shuddered violently in response, lips pinching tight together as he raised his optics to meet hers.

“Prowl? You going to crash?” Wildside reached for him.

“No!” Prowl swatted her hands away, “No, I’m not.” He turned away, clutching the package close to his chassis.

“Well, don’t go acting weird and mess this one up.” Her tone grew serious. “You were with the last host family for only a decaorn. That has to be a record, even for you.” Still scolding the other youngling gently, she wrapped her arm around the little Praxian and gave him a half hug… the only touch he would tolerate this stressed out.

“I know.” Prowl whimpered, pulling away from her, from her touch. Her gentle field brushed against his in an attempt to calm him. “But that last family was very easily upset. And they argued all the time about the littlest things.”

“Well calm down, or this one is going to send to you back too.” She waved her hand at the twitching doorwings.

“I can’t control them,” Prowl answered miserably. “I know I should be able too, but I can’t.”

“Prowl!” Midnight strode over to the younglings. “Are you ready yet?” He crossed his arms, narrowing his golden optics at them and tapping a pede.

“I… Yes.” Prowl looked up quickly from the old scuffed floor to glance at the mech’s faceplates before dropping his gaze again.

Midnight clamped a firm hand onto Prowl’s shoulder, “Come on, then, it's time to go,” and leading him out of the room. Wildside trailed behind, as long as she could, waving her hand vigorously.

Prowl peeked over his shoulder one last time before he was taken from the dorm and offered her a little wave of his digits and a tiny smile. Then the door closed between them, separating them forever.

“Good bye! And be careful!” Wildside called after them, her young voice hard to hear behind the heavy door. 

Clutching his bag awkwardly, Prowl followed the older mech down the long hallway. I wish I was old enough for a subspace. He fidgeted with the bag in his hands.

Slipknot was waiting for him in the lobby, leaning against the wall, watching him. His cold, red optics gleamed brightly as they landed on him.

“Ready?” He barked.

“Yes, sir,” Prowl mumbled as he followed the older mech from the building, helm down and doorwings held low.

Flora held the door open for them as they left, “Prowl…” 

He looked up at her, doorwings flaring as he hoped she had changed her mind about giving him to this mech. Please, his optics begged silently. Please don’t make me go. His field brushed against hers, questioning and frightened.

Her optics hardened and her lips pressed into a thin, white line. Only the rumble of passing trucks on the street behind him could be heard. “Goodbye Prowl.” she stated with finality and shut the door behind him.

“Good bye.” Prowl stared at the closed door with his soft blue optics. The click of the lock catching echoed with cold finality in his audios. 

The orange mech transformed and started moving away, pausing to glance at Prowl. “What are you waiting for? I don’t have all orn! Let’s go.” 

Blinking in the bright sunlight, “I don’t have an alt mode yet?” Prowl whispered. What did this mech expect? He wasn’t old enough for an alt mode. He shivered in the cool morning, doorwings flicking restlessly. 

“Fine, get in.” Slipknot groaned, opening the door to his cab. “We’re going to have to fix that. I’m not going to be hauling your aft everywhere.”

Doorwings twitched nervously, “I don’t think that it is legal for me to have an alt mode at my age.” Prowl stated clearly as he carefully climbed in.

“It ain’t your job to think. You take orders.” Slipknot snapped at him. “And lean forward! Those crazy doorwings feel weird in my cab.”

Prowl leaned forward willingly for the entire trip, carefully keeping his wings from touching the mech’s seats for almost three joors. Slipknot sped through the small town the orphanage was located in and through the countryside, the area around the roads becoming more developed as they travelled. They were heading to a large city.

“Is this Iacon?” Prowl asked curiously, peering out the dirty windows of Slipknot’s cab.

“Yeah.”

“Look! There’s the Capitol Building, where the Prime lives!” Prowl chirped excitedly, pointing to a tall, sprawling complex that they drove past, down a busy road. He twisted to keep the building in sight, watching mechs and femmes scurrying to and fro, focused on their own business and concerns. 

Slipknot just grunted as he wove through the dense traffic. “How do you know that? You’ve never been to Iacon.”

“I read about it,” Prowl answered excitedly. “And I have been to Iacon. One foster family had relatives here and took me to the museums when they visited.”

“Humph. Well, at least you got a processor of sorts. Whatever.” The mech continued driving away from the shining building, and away from the bright and clean streets. The neat and clean residential area melted away into tired and faded houses. The alt modes of the other mechs on the road with them became less shiny, less cared for. The road meandered past a Youth Center, and down a dingy street where several old, decrepit apartment buildings rose. Trash littered the streets and the gray walls were splashed with color as amateur artists and disgruntled youths graffitied their discontent. 

“Get out,” Slipknot growled at Prowl, pushing him out of his cab onto the curb as he spoke. Prowl pressed a hand over his olfactory as the putrid stench of raw sewage and mech fluids slapped him. Swallowing, he clutched his old brown bag tightly to his chest. He counted the windows of the drab building before him… 967. His racing spark calmed at the familiar pattern. His doorwings twitched, the faint hum of tires on the road behind, occasionally punctuated by the scrape of an undercarriage as the passing mech hit a particularly deep pothole. 

“Come on.” Slipknot grunted, leading the way into the building without looking back.

Prowl trailed nervously behind him, optics darting to the right and left. Hugging his pack tightly to his chest, he shivered, chilled as he passed from the warm afternoon sunlight into the shadow cast by the tall building they were entering.

“Who’s this, Slipknot?”

With a surprised and very undignified squeak, Prowl jumped forward and straight into Slipknot. 

“My youngling.” Slipknot spat over his shoulder at the garishly coloured femme, shoving Prowl away from him with a low growl. He jabbed the elevator button.

“Yours?” She planted her fists on her hips, her lips twisting into a frown as she stood behind them. Her blue optics roved Prowl’s frame as they waited silently for the elevator. Prowl studied the worn floor, his doorwings hung low and twitching.

“Yeah, Vibes. Mind your own fragging business.”

With a pained screech, the elevator jolted to a stop before them. Slowly the doors opened. Prowl hesitated in the entrance before scuttling in behind Slipknot. The femme’s attention drifted as she got onto the elevator with them, and Prowl vented in relief. 

Slipknot jabbed the button for level six, while the femme reached over to push a button for 7. She leaned against the back wall and let her gaze return to him. 

Prowl swallowed. He wanted to go back. He didn’t want to be here. He darted his optics to the femme, who smiled sweetly at him. He tucked his chin and inched closer to Slipknot as the elevator began its pained assent. 

“Get off me,” the mech muttered to the youngling, shoving him off with his knee.

Scrambling to catch his balance, Prowl kept a careful optic on the staring femme. Primus, please let this thing reach our floor before it dies. Finally the elevator pinged their floor as it weezed to a stop and he scurried off after Slipknot, still feeling the femme’s optics on his back. 

“Nosy femme.” Slipknot growled and complained about her all the way to his apartment. They stopped in front of a dark, peeling door. The number was ‘671B’ embossed in tarnished brass. Prowl committed it to memory as the door creaked open. Slipknot ushered him in, slamming and locking the door behind him. 

“Your room is over here, com’on.” 

Prowl stepped into the darkened entryway and froze, his doorwings locking up in surprise, then slamming down again. His olfactory detected a waft of garbage beneath the smell of mould and old, stale energon. Wrinkling his olfatory, he stepped over discarded cubes and pieces of cloth scattered around. He clutched his bag tighter to him, as if to protect his few worldly possessions from the contamination of his new…apartment.

“The kitchen,” Slipknot grunted with a passing nod at the darkened door way, where presumably the kitchen was. Prowl could barely make out the form of a refrigerator and a pathetically small table and chair, pressed against the wall. “Here’s the wash racks,” Slipknot waved to dimly lit room. Prowl peered into the wash racks. A thin film covered the surface of the entire rack. A few gray clothes hung to dry. Prowl stepped back slightly, his little wings tucking close, so nothing would touch him with a faint grimace. Needs a thorough cleaning before anyone could get clean!

“My room,” He pointed at a closed door, a few steps down the short hallway. And yours.” Slipknot finished, opening the door to Prowl’s room. “Stay out of my room if you know what is good for ya, hear me?” He finished abruptly.

Prowl nodded, keeping his field pulled tight to hide his discomfort. 

“Good,” Slipknot took a step to his door and halted. He vented heavily as he turned slightly and lifted an optic ridge at Prowl.

Prowl swallowed, not daring to move from where he stood in the hallway, dingy yellow paint stained with some unknown substance, as the older mech looked down at him. “There’s energon in the kitchen. It ain't what you're used to, but it'll do until I can go get more.” He jerked his helm back down the hallway. “Get some fuel and recharge, we have a lot to do tomorrow.” Then he stalked into his room.

Prowl flinched as the door banged shut. Venting, Prowl peeked into his room. He flipped the light switch, the poor thing stuttering its way into existence. His optics flitted from one gray, moldy wall to the other. It had the faint odor of rooms long since locked and forgotten. It wasn't much a small room as a large storage closet. He vented and trudged in, checking the single berth for stains before placing his bag carefully on it. He eyed the shelf above the headboard dubiously. Would it be able to hold his datapads? Carefully taking his few datapads out, Prowl organized them by title on the shelf before laying down on the berth, optics wide and dry. He stared at the dull ceiling, too drained from the orn to rise and get fuel.

****

Jerked out of a light recharge by a loud banging on the door, Prowl stumbled to his pedes. The door flew open, banging against the berth and barely stopping from bouncing back and striking the mech in the doorway.

“Get up and come on.” Slipknot growled. “We have an appointment we can’t be late for.”

Stumbling after the mech, Prowl hurried to keep up. “Where are we going?” he asked as he followed the older mech out of the apartment and outside into the cool evening. A soft breeze brushed against his plating, warmer than inside and he shivered, hugging himself.

“We’re going to get you an alt mode.” Slipknot snapped as he transformed. 

“But I’m not old enough for one.” Prowl’s doorwings inched down, his optics widening as he dropped into the seat.

“Lean forward!” Slipknot barked.

Prowl jerked forward, taking his doorwings off the seat quickly.

“You just take orders, understand?” The older mech’s engine growled as he merged with the bright streaks of lights farther down the road. “I’m in charge here.” 

Blinking owlishly out the dirty windows, Prowl watched as the headlights of passing mechs illuminated dingier buildings and streets the farther from the apartment they got. Slipknot pulled off before a shop that had seen better days, the color faded to dirt and windows cracked with bars over them. A piece of trash fluttered by to brush against the oversized pedes of two hulking mechs sulking in a nearby doorway. One of them smiled, flashing a sharp fang, glittering in the dim street lights. Trembling, Prowl silently followed Slipknot into the building, careful not to touch him but walking as close to the mech as possible. A short, squat brown mech with icy red optics came out of the back when the door opened, wiping his hands off with a dingy old rag.

“That him?” He asked Slipknot, with a jerk of his helm toward Prowl.

“Yep.” Slipknot answered, shoving Prowl forward with a hard hand between his doorwings. Prowl flared his doorwings in an attempt to keep his balance and stumbled into a heavily scratched table top, the only thing keeping him from falling.

Snorting, the other mech seized Prowl’s forearm as the youngling cringed back, “Come on, I don’t have all night,” he grunted as he began dragging the resisting youngling into a back room. 

Prowl’s field lashed out with fear and he looked back for Slipknot as he was wrenched into the back room, but the older mech had already left the building. Distracted by the abandonment of his caretaker, he yanked his attention back to the dealer too late. Belatedly realizing the pinch was a needle, he fell free of the older mech, darkness encompassed him as the sedative took effect.

********

“Hurry up!” The orange mech barked at the small pickup truck idling in the road behind him.

Prowl hesitantly started forward, feeling his fuel levels drop quickly as he drove up behind Slipknot. He focused on the dirty orange bumper, which was all he could see as they drove through the dark streets. Gasping in pain as he hit an unseen pothole, Prowl could only groan as he struggled to keep up.

“I only got one rule for you in this alt - Don’t get caught.” Slipknot snapped at him as they drove through the dark, ill-kept streets. “I ain’t going to jail because of you.” Slipknot finished darkly as he transformed smoothly before their apartment building.

Feeling exhausted, Prowl slowly transformed as well, and promptly fell to the curb, dazed.

“Come on,” Slipknot waved impatiently at the youngling before disappearing on the dark threshold of the doorway. 

Struggling to his pedes, Prowl whimpered, almost falling again. This is why it is illegal for younglings to have an alt mode… Prowl thought as he staggered after him. It drains so much energy.

“Slipknot, do you have him registered at a Youth Center yet?”

Prowl jumped out of his plating with a squeak as yet again their neighbor, Vibes, if he remembered correctly, slipped up behind them, studying Slipknot coolly in the chill light of the moon as they waited for the elevator.

“Why the Pit would I do that?” Slipknot cycled his optics as he grouched back at her. Prowl pressed his shoulder heavily on the chilly wall, out of sight of the cold gaze of the moon and lowered his optics as the adults snarled at each other again.

Vibes’ sharp gaze could peel paint, “Someone notices you’ve got a youngling around that isn’t going to the Youth Center, they’ll report you. Then the Enforcers will come asking questions… You want that kind of attention, moron?” She snapped as they rode the elevator up.

“Frag off, Vibes.” Slipknot growled at her as he shoved Prowl out the elevator at their floor. Prowl stumbled, catching himself on the wall with a crash.

“Maybe I better enroll you at the Youth Center.” He stared hard at Prowl as they walked into the apartment. “Can’t hurt.” With a grimace, he shrugged one shoulder and turned away from the exhausted youth. “Go to berth.”

Prowl, drained from transforming and driving obeyed without comment, slinking into the small room that was his and collapsed onto the berth. He laid there, curled up on his side trembling as he listened for Slipknot’s room door to open and close. Venting deeply, Prowl whimpered and bit down on his wrist to muffle his sobs. Drained by the events of the orn, he slowly sank into a deep recharge, tears marking a winding trail down his face.

********

Prowl woke as the pounding on his door ended with it being thrown open into his berth, shaking it.

“Get up!” Slipknot barked, snapping the light on, before leaving Prowl to drag himself out of the berth to meet the harsh glare of the impatient mech in the living room. “You will get up when I tell you to, no lazing about.” He put his hands on his hips and glared at Prowl. “You’re starting school tomorrow, so come on.”

Prowl silently followed the mech out of the apartment building. Grey low hanging clouds covered the sky and a soft, misting rain soon covered his armour with tiny droplets. He shivered, unhappily looking at the curb. Transforming, Slipknot growled softly, opening his cab door. “Don’t get used to this.” 

Groaning with relief, Prowl carefully leaned forward so his door wings wouldn’t touch Slipknot’s seats, “Where are we going?” He asked quietly.

“This is the way to the school.” Slipknot replied. “Pay attention.”

Looking out the grimy windows, slowly being smeared by the gentle rain, Prowl tried to remember the route he’d have to take. They drove a different way than last night, the houses and apartments were better cared for this way and the roads much smoother than the ones he drove on last night.

“Is that the school?” Prowl asked softly, studying the sprawling building with a good-sized play yard with room to run around the back. It was surrounded by a tall fence, more to define the school’s boundaries than to keep anyone in. Slipknot slowly cruised around it.

“Yeah,” he muttered. After making a complete circuit of the school he stopped by behind a tall fence a few blocks away. “This looks like the best place,” He muttered. “You’ll drive yourself here for school, transform and walk the rest of the way so you don’t get caught, hear me?”

“Yes sir,” Prowl whispered, slumping back in the seat.

Slipknot drove them back to the apartment, “I got something to do,” he grunted as he left Prowl standing at the curb, the cleansing rain falling a little heavier now. 

Prowl stood out in the cool rain for a few klicks, watching the orange mech fade into the distance. He tilt his helm back, raising his face to the rain, as it washed away the horrors of the last few orns. Slowly turning, he trudged into the apartment building looming over him. For once Vibes isn’t sneaking up on me. His tanks gargled and he realized he hadn’t fueled for a long time. He went to the refrigerator in the tiny kitchen, carefully opening the door with his fingertips and trying to make as little contact with it as possible. The tired old appliance wheezed louder as he opened the door to consider the meager offerings within. Frowning at the cubes of energon, he carefully avoided the high grade and picked up one of the few cubes of cloudy blue fluid that looked like mid grade. Raising the cube to his optics for a closer look, Prowl shook it slightly and grimaced seeing the chunks floating in the odd colored fluid. With nothing else to drink, he slowly took a sip of the mid grade and gagging, felt the sour energon slide down to his tanks. Using his tongue to try to break up the solid chunks he sipped on the foul tasting stuff, tanks giving him an unhappy lurch and he paused to let them settle. 

He gingerly sat on the edge of the dingy old couch and looked around. Unable to stand the filth that had accumulated from vorns of neglect he carefully picked up the old cubes of energon… The last dregs clumping and soured worse than what was in the refrigerator. After tossing the old cubes he neatly stacked the datapads scattered around onto the table and wiped down the table and tv with a rag he rinsed clean in the sink. Doorwings quivering slightly, he kept scrubbing at a stubborn stain on the couch when a heavy hand grabbed one of his doorwings painfully. Prowl shrieked with pain as he struggled to ease the tight grasp.

“What tha’ frag you doing?” the furious orange mech spat in his cowering face.

“Cleaning.” Prowl whispered, holding up the rag in front of his face and quickly adverting his optics from the angry mech’s face. He pulled his fear laced field in, doorwings rattling. 

With a sneer, Slipknot dragged the frightened youngling into his room and threw him onto the little berth. Grasping the younglings forearms, he leaned forward, pinning him on his back to the berth, pinching his doorwings painfully under him. His face so close to Prowl’s, Prowl could feel his hot vents on his cheek.

He said softly, dangerously. “Don’t touch my stuff.” He released Prowl only to slap him hard across the faceplates. Rolling onto his side, to relieve the painful pressure on his doorwings, Prowl cringed deep into his berth, burying his face in the musty pillow, in a failed attempt to hide. “I won’t, I won’t” Prowl whimpered, curling into himself, arms wrapped tightly around his knees. He pressed his vulnerable doorwings tightly to his small frame.

Slipknot cuffed the back of Prowl’s helm, garnering a squeal of pain from the youngling. Then he stomped out of the tiny room slamming the door behind him, leaving trembling youngling alone in the dark. Crying softly, alone, Prowl bit his wrist as he struggled to make no noise. He listened, buried deep under the thin covers as Slipknot thumped around the apartment before going to his room. The heavy silence fell over him, crushing him, his vents stuttered as he finally slipped into a troubled recharge.

A harsh banging on his bedroom door woke Prowl from recharge the next morning. He lunged to his pedes and hurried to the door of his tiny room. 

“Get up!” Slipknot barked, throwing the door open before he could get there again. “You’re going to be late for school.” Before he turned and stalked away.

“What?” Prowl rubbed his tired optics slowly, trying to force his processor to work faster. “How will I get there?” as he staggered into the living room.

Pursing his lips, Slipknot spun and frowned down at Prowl. “Drive yourself, just transform where I showed you so you don’t get caught.” he punctuated his words with sharp jabs of his fingertip into Prowl's shoulder.

Nodding his helm slowly, Prowl answered, “yes, sir.” His doorwings drooped as he lowered his optics to the floor.

“Here’s the directions to the school,” Slipknot threw a datapad at Prowl, and it hit the cringing youngling’s chest before falling to the floor. With a look of disgust, “Don’t be late, and don’t expect me to be here when you get back. I have work to do.” He turned to go, then turned back with one final warning, “Don’t let them see you have a subspace either,” before stomping out of the apartment.

Leaning down to pick up the datapad, Prowl heard his adoptive creator leave, sharp voices of their neighbors joined his in the hallway before the door closed behind him. Doorwings trembling, he carefully studied the datapad to check the directions to the school before off lining it and tucking it into his subspace, then stood motionless in the middle of the living room, faint beams of light struggled to pass through the heavy curtains omitting almost all light from the window. 

Fuel first. Gingerly Prowl stepped into the kitchen. Careful to touch as little as possible, he withdrew the last cube of mid grade, allowing the door to shut by itself. With a grimace of disgust he slowly swirled the liquid, It looks as bad as the cube yesterorn. Taking a careful sip and fighting to keep from simply spitting it out, he swallowed the questionable liquid. Gagging slightly as the old energon hit his tanks with an unpleasant cramp, he slowly drank the rest of the unpalatable fluid. 

Spitting out an offensively large chunk into his hand, he went to the washrack to clean his hands off and neaten up before school. Pausing in the center of the poorly lit room he found the cleanest rag he could to use to clean the grime off himself. Time to go. Prowl carefully replaced the rag and cautiously left the apartment. 

The bright light of the morning sun danced on his black and white plating as he transformed. Immediately he felt a large amount of energy drain away and sat at the curb for a click as the soft sunlight warmed his plating. With a vent he started moving, carefully following the directions he had memorized from the datapad. He left the dingy and dirty streets and dilapidated houses behind. The streets near the school were cleaner, and houses neatly kept. Transforming a good three blocks from the school in the little cul de sac that Slipknot had found, Prowl carefully approached the school, looking about to see if anyone had seen him.

He watched the creators drop their younglings off at the school. Watched them give their creations hugs and kisses before sending them off. For just a slim moment, Prowl let himself imagine what it would be like to have someone care about him. Shaking himself to clear the useless feeling from himself, he focused on the school as he entered it. It is not logical to wish for what I can never have.

Little doorwings suddenly flared before the mayhem just inside the school’s door. I don’t know where to go! Freezing and looking around desperately he only saw other younglings rushing about in a colorful, chaotic mass. His doorwings clamped tight to his back while he watched the rushing, unorganized crowd bumble around sometimes bumping into him in their frenzy to get to class on time. 

A loud bell clanged and Prowl clamped his hands over his audios as the hallway emptied, except for him and another youngling. Venting heavily, squinting slightly in the bright hallway he peered at the silver mechling puttering up the brightly lit hallway as if he had all the time in the world.

“Hey, what’cha doin’?” The other youngling chirped at Prowl, cheerfully strolling over to where he was huddled against the wall.

“I am looking for my class.” Prowl answered, optics dull but focused on the other youngling, the stress of the orns pressing on him.

“How old a’ya?” The youngling’s blue visor flared with curiosity.

“Four vorns.” 

“So’m ah. Ya’ll be in mah class.” his cheeky grin split his faceplates in two. “Com’ on.” He waved Prowl to follow as he trots away. “Ah’m Jazz.”

“Prowl.” 

“Nice to meet’cha, Prowler!” Jazz chirped as he bounced down the hallway.

Blinking in confusion, the young Praxian followed him, “excuse me,” he caught the other youngling by his arm, momentarily halting him. “But my designation is Prowl,” His doorwings flared and twitched. 

“Ah know!” Jazz giggled as he pulls free, “Ma’ nickname for ya is Prowler, Prowler. “ He giggled again, running up the hallway. “Now com’on! We’a goin’ ta be late!” 

Cycling his optics at the antics and accent of the odd youngling, Prowl walked a little faster, he had almost lost sight of Jazz when he skidded to a halt in front of a door.

Jazz looked over his shoulder at Prowl with a wide grin. “Here we are!” He chirped brightly as he opened the door and danced in.

“Jazz!” a bright pink femme was standing at the front of the classroom, a long row of windows along the wall bathing the room and its occupants in natural light. “You’re Tardy!” she glared at the unrepentant youngling. 

“But Miss Coral! Ah found Prowler! He was lost.” Jazz smiled innocently up at her.

“Prowler?” She repeated, brow creased and a frown on her pretty face, crossing her arms across her chest.

“My designation is Prowl,” Prowl interjected, stepping around the lively mechling, lifting his doorwings slightly even as they trembled on his back.

“Ah! Hello Prowl, I’m Miss Coral. I have been expecting you.” She lowered her arms and beckoned to him, smiling at Jazz, who was bouncing on his pede tips, “Thank you, Jazz, for showing Prowl how to get here.”

Jazz’s smile lit his entire faceplates.

“Now, could you two take a seat?” She queried gently, gesturing to the nearly full classroom, “And then we’ll begin.”

“Com’ on Prowler, ya can sit next ta me!” Jazz yelled.

Prowl quietly followed Jazz to the back of the classroom, all the other younglings stared at him as he passed, doorwings twitching with all the unwanted attention. There was one empty desk in the very back row, right next to Jazz. It was a struggle to keep from falling into recharge during the class. The sunlight shining through the window gently warmed his plating. Jazz shifting restlessly beside him was the only thing that kept him awake. The bell rang loudly, and he was startled into full attention as small hands grabbed a wing and tugged on it.

“Ow!” Flinching, Prowl cringed as Jazz let go of his doorwing as quickly as he grabbed it. 

“Oh, sorry, mech,” The young mech stared at him in surprise. “Those a’ sensitive?”

“Yes.” Prowl’s doorwings flicked, uncontrollable.

“Ah’m sorry. Ah got excited.” Jazz looked down, shame on his faceplates. 

“It will be fine.” Prowl replied calmly, although this may be the first time somebody pulled on them not meaning to hurt.

“Com’ on. It's lunch time.” Carefully staying clear of those sensitive doorwings, Jazz loped off down the hallway, Prowl following close behind, walking as fast as he could.

Jazz trotted up to his locker and dropped off his datapad, taking out a cube of energon. “Ya know where yer locker is?” 

Prowl stared at the light blue fluid in the cube Jazz held in his hand. I forgot lunch.

“Prowler, ya ok?”

Prowl jerked his helm up to meet Jazz's puzzled face. “Miss Coral gave me my locker number.” he replied, turning to walk to his locker which was fortunately not too far away. He opened it, placing his datapad inside. Stepping back he closed it. His doorwings flinched back as he followed his energetic guide down the hall. But I couldn’t bring what Slipknot had in the refrigerator. 

Jazz plopped down in a seat in the cafeteria, and patted a seat beside him to indicate where Prowl should sit. “Where’s yer lunch?” He inclined his helm to one side, staring at the doorwinger sitting beside him.

“I forgot it.” Prowl blinked at him, his tanks cramping at the sight of the energon slopping in Jazz's cube.

“Oh. Ya want some o’ mine?” Jazz holds out his cube, a cheerful smile splitting his faceplates.

“I- no, thank you.” Prowl stared at him, optics wide. “I - I’ll be fine.”

“Ya sure?” Jazz frowned at Prowl, concerned. “Ah couldn’t go all orn without lunch.” He swirled the contents of the cube, light blue low grade shining in it.

“Yes.” Prowl responded firmly. “I have gone without before. I will be fine.” He settled himself in his seat and looked around the cafeteria. There were a collection of long tables and chairs throughout room, and many different ages of younglings clustered in groups around them.

“Um, ok.” Looking down at his energon, Jazz drinks the cube down as quickly as possible before jumping to his pedes. “Com’on!” grabbing Prowl by the arm, he tries to drag Prowl away, but the other digs in his heels and refuses to budge.

“Where are we going?” Prowl raised an optic ridge at his rambunctious companion. 

“Outside before class starts up and we’re stuck inside again!” Jazz danced a little in place, sunlight from the windows catching and sparkling off his lightweight armour.

“Ok,” Prowl takes a step toward his lively companion, as Jazz whoops with glee and hauls him down the hall and into the sunny playground, already teeming with other students.

___________

Another loud bell ended the freedom of the playground; the rioting younglings rushed back into their respective classrooms. Prowl cringed behind Jazz, once again following the other through the crowded hallway, his doorwings trembled and he staggered when another student bumped him from behind. The mad rush begins to filter away as the others find their classrooms. Prowl and Jazz walked into the madhouse of their class and negotiated a route through their classmates. 

Prowl dropped into his seat with a vent of relief, while Jazz sprawled dramatically in his seat. Rolling his datapad around in his hands, he giggled at Prowl. “Ya up for the rest o’ the day?” He yawned hugely.

“Jazz!” Miss Coral’s voice cutted through the suddenly silent room. “Pay attention!”

Giggling and rolling his optics, he chirps “Yes ma’am.” And onlined his datapad to begin his work.

Prowl steadily worked through his questions. Finishing before the rest of the class, he quietly sits at his desk, looking out the window where clouds drifted past, casting their shadow over the playground as they travel to faraway lands.

“Prowl?” Miss Coral whispered, leaning close to him.

Startled by her presence so close to him his doorwings jerked and he pulled away, lowering his optics quickly to his desk.

“Do you need help?” Miss Coral queried, her field gently, reassuringly brushed against Prowl’s, as she noted his reactions to her.

“No, Miss Coral,” he answered, peeking up at her.

She nodded towards his datapad. “Are you sure? I can help if you’re stuck.”

“I’m done.” He shrugged one shoulder half heartedly, still looking at her out of the corner of his optics.

“May I check your work?” Rocking back on her heels, she picked up his datapad as soon as he nodded his helm. Checking through it quickly, she blinked at down him. “Please sit here until class is over, Prowl.”

Nodding his helm, he sat quietly at his desk until the bell rang, releasing him and the other students. They raced out, datapads flung at Miss Coral in their uncontrollable excitement as they leave.

“Good orn, Miss Coral,” Prowl walked softly to her desk, placing his data pad precisely on her desk.

“Good orn, Prowl,” tiredly she smiled at her newest student. “We’ll be seeing you tomorrow.

________

Stumbling into the dimly lit apartment, feeling drained after his drive from school he came to an abrupt halt. Slipknot was home.

“Took you long enough.”

Freezing to stare at Slipknot, he watched the mech take a sip of his cube of high grade as he sat in the only chair at the kitchen table, and stared darkly at Prowl. The old table he sat at had a single data pad resting on it. The chair creaked ominously as the mech shifted his weight. “Get some fuel and come here.” The older mech gestured with his cube of high grade toward the fridge. “And bring me another cube.” He tossed back the dregs of his and dropped it onto the table with a harsh clunk.

Faint bangs and thumps of their neighbors in the hallway opening the door to their apartment and going in, arguing the whole time covered the wheezes of the cranky refrigerator as it coughed, struggling to keep the contents within cool. Carefully opening its door, Prowl studied the offerings within. Along with several cubes high grade, there were several cubes of fresh, unrefined midgrade. He tried not to grab the cube, but it was hard. It wasn’t the refined low grade he was accustomed to, but it was fresh.

Stepping away from the refrigerator and letting the door fall close, he clutched the midgrade to his chest and brought the other cube to Slipknot.

Those cold red optics studied him as the mech took the cube Prowl held out, hand trembling. A sudden bang on the wall behind Slipknot startled Prowl and he stared, wide opticed at the older mech. Slipknot just kept slowly drinking his high grade. Still trembling, Prowl tried to sip his midgrade, instead eagerly gulped it down. The cold red optics watched every move he made. His empty tanks finally stopped cramping as he took in the fluid, and they settled. Once finished with the cube, he walked to the small, little used sink and carefully rinsed out the cube before placing it in the trash. He turned to walk away, still able to hear the bangs and thumps of their neighbors.

“You’re not going to school tomorrow.” Slipknot said.

“Why?” Prowl asked, spinning in the doorway to look into the smirking face of his foster creator.

A dark smile stretched across his face, “I’ve got a delivery to make and you’re going to make yourself useful.” Slipknot frowned at the contents of his cube, sloshing it. 

“Where are we going?” his young voice and doorwings rose with excitement. 

“That ain’t none o’ yer problem. Get me another cube.” He grouched.

Hesitantly, Prowl did as he was told, bringing another cube to the older mech and handing it to him. Slipknot took it and set it down on the table, before lunging to his pedes and grabbing Prowl where he stood before him, staring.

“Get to yer room now,” He snarled as he grabbed Prowl roughly by his forearm and towed him to his room. “I'm tired of yer questions.” He threw Prowl down onto his berth, “Make sure you get enough rest.” Before stepping back and letting the door slam shut behind him.

Trembling at the unprovoked and violent response, Prowl curled up on himself, his door wings clamping to his back and bit down on his wrist to hide his sobs as he forced himself to shut down into recharge.

 

__________

A loud banging on the door right before it was flung open startled Prowl out of recharge once again. 

“Get up,” Slipnot growled at him as he stomped off, optics hazy with his hangover.

Slowly rising, he walked toward the kitchen, noting that no light attempted to force its way through the living room curtains. Prowl went to the kitchen to retrieve his morning energon. Taking an energon cube out, he sipped it.

He still had a few sips left when, Slipknot stomped back in. “Here,” he shoved a package in Prowl’s face. “Take it and stow it in your subspace. Don’t take it out or unwrap it,” He grabbed a cube of mid grade and finished it in two gulps. “Hurry up,” he barked, tossing the empty cube in the sink and headed for the door.

Prowl drank as he followed Slipknot out of the apartment, tucking his empty cube into his subspace with the packet he was entrusted with.

Outside the moon was sinking toward the horizon and there were a few red streaks heralding the sun’s arrival. Slipknot transformed in a puddle  
accumulated from last night’s thunderstorm, the dawn’s red light reflecting in it. “Get in.”

Tiredly, Prowl obeyed. The seat belt wrapped around him, uncomfortably tight and he relaxed back. His optics shuttered and he fell into recharge as Slipknot’s tires hummed on the road.

“Hey! HEY!” Slipknot swerved recklessly on the highway, trying to wake the youngling. Prowl’s helm thumped against the seat, but he only slumped farther to one side, recharging on. Grumbling, the older mech settled into the long drive. The youngling’s annoying doorwings rasping his seat with every twitch.

Prowl finally opened his optics to an unending road. Other mechs traveled with them on the road, some flying by at dangerous speeds. 

“Get your wings off my seats.” Slipknot snapped.

Prowl jerked forward, still staring out the window. The landscape rolled by, unchanging as the morning passed uneventfully. Prowl’s tank rumbled as his fuel levels fell as lunch time came and went. Bored, he leaned forward to rest his helm on Slipknot’s window. Prowl reviewed the lessons from class yesterorn, and wondered what the class would learn while he was away today. 

“Where are we?” Prowl asked as he rubbed his optics, slowly booting up from his nap as Slipknot stopped beside some dilapidated buildings.

“Get out,” Slipknot snarled, “We need to walk the rest of the way. Don’t show that package to anyone, don’t look at it.” He snapped at Prowl as he shoved the youngling out to the curb and transforms. “Don’t make optic contact with anyone. Don’t talk to enforcers if we see any. Got it?”

Nodding his helm sharply, Prowl kept his helm down and field tucked in close, as he followed the orange mech through winding alleyways. Ominous dark clouds loomed, threatening another thunderstorm in the late afternoon sky. Foul odors and puddles of mech fluids diluted by rain seeped from rain formed puddles on the path. Grunts from two mechs, obviously interfacing in plain sight froze Prowl in place, as Slipknot stepped into the shadowed alley and snatched his arm, dragging Prowl in with him, smirking at the two as he passes. “You have to wear this the rest of the way.” he holds up a blindfold. 

Nodding slowly, Prowl felt the icy fingers of fear glide over his armor as the blindfold is pulled over his helm. Vision lost, the faint drops of fluid down a drain consumed him, the scrape of the mech’s armour on the wall behind him… as they vented heavily… groaning. He felt Slipknot’s hard hand pressing down on his soft armour and pull him along, stumbling.

“Pick up your pedes.” 

Prowl stumbled as his pede hit the first step and he fell to his knees, throwing his hands out to try to catch himself. Crashing to the ground, he heard Slipknot snicker above him as he struggled to rise, slipping on the slimy steps. 

Gasping in shock as hands pick him up and throw him over a shoulder, “I don’t want you making a mess in my cab,” Slipknot grumbled as, shocked, Prowl remained frozen. Finally reaching their destination, Slipknot dropped him on the sticky floor and took off the blindfold. “Remember what I told you.” He sneered at the youngling. “And clean yourself up.” he dropped the blindfold onto Prowl’s lap.

Prowl took the fairly clean rag and wiped himself off as best he could as he continued to follow Slipknot down the aisle to a nondescript door.

“What the frag?” a scarred blue mech shot to his pedes and stalked around his desk toward Prowl and Slipknot as he barged into the room without knocking. “A sparkling? What the frag are you doing bringing him here?” He shouted, hands fisted on his hips.

“Calm down.” Slipknot airily replied.

“He could tell somebot, ya stupid fragger.” The blue mech shook his fist at Slipknot, flaring his armour and getting right into his face as he yelled at him.

“He ain’t going to tell anyone anything.” Slipknot snarled back, snarling his engine warningly as his own hideous orange armor flared as he glared back at him. Spinning, the other stalked stiff legged back to his desk, to sit behind it as he glared at Slipknot. “He better not.” He sneered. “Or else I’ll take care of it.”

“Now, now calm down, you’re scaring the sparkling,” A soft voice floated out of the shadows in the back of the room. A purple and mauve femme slinked out and sidled over to the blue mech, resting her hip on the edge of his desk and leaned back slightly, her hands braced on the edge of the desk.

“Where’s the goods, Slip? Or did you forget it sparkling sitting?” The other mech laughed darkly as he smirked at the femme.

“I have it. Prowl.” Slipknot smirked at the others and waved his hand for Prowl to step forward. 

Gingerly taking the package out of his subspace, Prowl hands it to him, the whole time he kept a wary optic on the mech and femme.

“A sparkling with a subspace?” The mech laughs. “Clever. The ‘Forcers would never think to search him.”

Slipknot smirked at him, placing the drugs on the desk between them. “Not so stupid an idea now, huh?” He sneered, leaning forward and giving the femme a sharp look.

“Not bad, until he upgrades. Then what are you going to do with him?” The other mech leaned forward, checking the package Slipknot dropped on his desk.

“The slave rings. He’d make somebot a nice toy someday,” Slipknot chuckled.

“You nuts, Slip?” The mech jerked his helm up to stare at him. “Blackout’ll have your helm for undercutting him.”

The femme slid off his desk and sauntered over to Prowl, ignoring the two mechs in favor of the youngling before her. Looking down at him with one hand on her hip which cocked out slightly before she slowly squatted down in front of him. Running her hands down his sides, they stopped on his hips. Her thumbs made gentle circles on his thin plating.

“He’s a sweet little thing.” She murmured as she leaned in, her soft vents brushing his face.

Prowl whimpered, unable to move as his optics widened, staring at her. Her hands were gentle and warm; her field brushed against his, inviting… But it felt so wrong. 

She paused to purr, “I would love to train him for you,” as she shifted her warm frame closer to his and reached out to pet a doorwing. “I love door wings...So sensitive…”

“Get yerr paws off him, Helitrope,” Slipknot snarled. “ I’ll get more for him untouched than already broken in. “

With a soft frown, she pulled back, her attention on Slipknot. 

The spell broken, Prowl spun and lunged for the door. He had to get out. He had to get away from these crazy mechs! Flinging it open, he bolted from the room as if a demon straight from the Pits of Unicron chased him… 

“Frag! Get your aft back here!” Slipknot roared behind him, his curses soon lost in the twists and turns of the old warehouse cum offices.

His spark pounded with his pedes on the dirty floor, dim lighting aiding his escape as his running form was lost to the shadows.

Dodging down dark hallways and past closed doors, he finally stumbled, panting, into an unlocked door. It opened unexpectedly on him and he fell down the steps outside into a puddle of mech fluid on the ground. A sudden light flashed in his face startled him and he froze in the muck. 

“Hello there,” a calm, clear voice rang out. A chill wind cut through his light armour, his doorwings vibrated on his back. Darkness wrapped around them like a blanket.

Vents shuddering, Prowl stared wide opticed, blinded by the bright light that illuminated the darkened alley. The dark shadows were driven away by the clear light. It shifted to the ground, no longer blinding him and he sat up on his knees. His doorwings rose to frame his helm and stilled as he could only stare at the Enforcer coming quietly toward him. The overcast clouds hung low, the late afternoon sunk low in the sky. Towering warehouses darkened the alley even more.

Frowning, the Enforcer leaned down and helped Prowl to his pedes, field gently brushing against Prowl’s as his all too knowing optics took in the scuffed and little frame, the gasping vents and frightened field fluctuating against his.

“Hey there,” Helitrope’s voice purred from the open door, and she stepped out, swaying slightly as she walked down the steps to stop behind Prowl. She smiled at the Enforcer. “Prowl, you’re sire’s looking for you, you better get.” She grabbed Prowl’s arms and pulled him away from the Enforcer, closer to her warm armor as she smiled flirtatiously at the Enforcer, then shoved Prowl toward the door with a firm hand on his back.

“Hold on now.” the Enforcer stopped her with a hard stare, field no longer warm and comforting. “Are you all right?” His optics softened as he looked over where Prowl stood at the steps, armour clattering.

Feeling Slipknot’s cold glare peeling his paint from just inside the door, he could only nod, doorwings twitching erratically. “Yes, Sir,” he finally whispered “I only got a fright at…some other mechs.”

“Now you git,” Helitrope finished sharply, with a firm push to his back to encourage him to move before walking back to the Enforcer with a sway to her hips. “See, he’s fine.” 

Helitrope pressing against the Enforcer’s frame was the last Prowl saw as he was yanked back into the warehouse. 

Slipknot yanked Prowl deeper into the warehouse as the blue mech shut the door behind him.

“Frag, Slip, that was close,” he snarled as he stalked to them. “I told you that brat would be trouble.”

“Frag off.” Slipknot snarled in return, squeezing his arm so hard Prowl whimpered in pain as his delicate armor dented. Slipknot leaned in close to Prowl’s audio. “Don’t run off like that again.” Prowl could smell the stale energon on his breath, feel his hot vents on his face, his angry field pulsed against his in sharp contrast to the calming field of the Enforcer’s. “You won’t like it when I get my hands on you if you do.”

With that, Slipknot nodded his helm sharply at Helitrope, who slipped back in after appeasing the enforcer. “Thanks.” 

She shrugged. “You’re welcome.” and pranceed off where she smiled coquettishly at Prowl. “My offer still stands.”

Slipknot snorted as he shoved Prowl away. “No.” 

“Good luck, Prowl.’ She called after them. “I hope you get a better master than that afthole” she jerked her helm towards Slipknot, “someday.” And with that, she slipped soundlessly down the hallway, following her master.

Slipknot snarled as they swiftly left the warehouse from another door. He blocked the door with his frame. Prowl cringed back against the wall across from him and Slipknot looked carefully around for Enforcers. Before he grabbed his arm and hauled him out into the street. 

He transformed. “Get in.” 

Hesitantly, Prowl looked around the unfamiliar street. Light from the few street lights that still worked cut through shadows of twilight, throwing the frames and other unfortunates who endured the slums of this city.

“No one is gonna help you. Get in.” His guardian grunted.

Suddenly a hard hand clamped down on his neck and with a frightened squeal he was forcibly shoved toward Slipknot’s cab. “Need some help?” The blue mech laughed at him. Swallowing, he scrambled into Slipknot’s cab.

Slipknot slammed the door shut, locking Prowl in. “Thanks.” He said grudgingly before peeling out, leaving the other mech to laugh behind him.

Prowl shuddered on the seat, trying not to cry. “You can’t do that.” he gasped.

“Do what?” Slipknot laughed.

“You can’t sell me.” Prowl cringed at the waver in his voice. 

“I’ll do whatever I want to with you.” The other sneered.

Sitting stiffly up, Prowl snapped “Miss Flora won’t let you.” with all the righteous innocence of youth.

Slipknot’s dark laugh grated on Prowl’s already frayed nerves and he melted back against his seat, lowering his doorwings and optics.

“Who do you think called me to come get you?” Slipknot paused, letting his words sink in. “No one wants you. No one cares about you. If they cared, you would have been adopted by now. But you ain’t. So she called me to come and get you. You should thank me.” He went on. “I should’a brought you straight to the sales. I didn’t cause if I sell you myself I’ll get more than just the finders fee. So you got more time before you’re someone’s toy.” 

Slipknot drove through the darkening gloom as the sun set and darkness crept over the planet like a cold blanket, snuffing out all the warmth before it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The simple act of being kind has long reaching effects.

 

 

 

Jazz puttered down the hallway to his class, optics bright as he looked around the sea of younglings bustling about. A gentle breeze wove through the hallway, warm and smelling of the outdoors.

Jazz paused briefly by an open window to gaze wistfully outside, the sunlight tickling his armor, before he turned away as a shout from another student caught his attention. A quick glance in that direction revealed who he was looking for. Prowl’s twitching doorwings were just adjacent to him, that constant movement effectively kept others at a slight distance as they shifted to avoid them. Prowl was getting his datapad out of his locker. Jazz leapt into action without warning, dancing between the other students, giggling, as he made his way to Prowl’s side.

 

“Hey! Watch where you're going!” An older student called out angrily as his haphazard armload of data pads slid toward the floor.

 

“Sorry!” Jazz yelled back, pausing to watch the ruckus before turning to Prowl with a wicked smile.

 

“You did that intentionally,” Prowl narrowed his optics at him before turning back to close his locker. The lockers reflected the bright sunlight from windows behind him, but Prowl’s dull black and white paint job did not even gleam in the light, a sharp contrast to the bright paint of their classmates. Jazz could easily see the shadows of a few new dents and scratches.

 

Gently, even for such a hyper youth, Jazz placed his hand lightly on his friend’s shoulder, feeling a shallow dent under his digits. Prowl looked up, into Jazz’s optics, and the dim blue light shone brighter for a klick. A faint, not quite pleasant odor came from the other youngling, as if he had not washed with cleanser recently. A state that did not fit with his friend’s meticulous nature at all.

 

“Good orn, Jazz.” a faint smile graced his usually stoic features.

 

“Good orn, Prowl.”  Jazz let his hand fall as Prowl stepped away and they ambled together toward their classroom. Jazz worriedly hovered close to Prowl’s side. He was quick to grab Prowl’s elbow to steady him when another student bumped into them. Prowl recovered quickly as they continued.

 

“Clumsy aft,” Jazz muttered, glaring after the mechling. “Did ya remember your lunch today?” Jazz asked loudly so he could be heard over several other conversations, following his calmer friend through the morning rush.

 

Prowl looked over at Jazz, a crease between his eyebrows. “No. And watch your language,” he scolded gently.

 

“Hmm.” Jazz’s optics brightened as he saw their teacher, Miss Coral, standing in the hallway ahead of them, serenely watching the mayhem unfolding before her.

 

“Miss Coral!” Jazz yipped when they were beside her, waving to get her attention.

 

“Good orn, Jazz, Prowl,” her warm smile faded a little as she compared the two younglings before her. 

 

“Prowl forgot his lunch again, Miss Coral.” Jazz stated, pausing directly in front of her.

 

Prowl frowned at him. “Jazz!” He snapped as his doorwings shot up to frame his helm.

 

Carefully, Coral extended her field to brush lightly against Prowl’s, and teeked his embarrassment. Thoughtfully, she looked the young Praxian over, her sharp optics did not miss the dull paint or trembling doorwings.

 

“He’s never brought a lunch!” Jazz continued, despite Prowl’s warning glare.

 

“I’m fine, Jazz. I’m used to it.” Prowls scowl deepened as he looked from his friend to teacher.

 

“Hmm.”  As she stepped aside so the two could enter, Coral winked at Jazz, bending down to speak only to him. “I'll see what I can do, ok?” Coral allowed a frown to deepen her faceplates as she turned away. Sparklings as young as Jazz and Prowl  _ needed _ three meals a day. Their young systems just couldn’t process even low grade as efficiently as an adult. Routinely missing a meal was not good for their health.

 

Jazz beamed at her as he walked away, right on Prowl’s heels. 

 

Venting softly, she turned slightly to watch the two walk to their desks. Jazz almost seemed to bounce with each step, his thin youngling armour shiny, visor bright. He talked animatedly with his hands, gestures almost knocking data pads off his classmates desks, much to their dismay. Prowl… Prowl walked. His doorwings trembled and hung low. Optics dull and downcast… armor ill-kept. His movements were almost calculated. To conserve energy? Or just his personality. She couldn’t tell.

  
  


******

  
  


Coral paused in the doorway of the lunchroom, the sweet scent of low grade, combined with the rumble of 45 younglings of various ages all conversing at once in a confined space made her smile. She scanned the packed room carefully, finally locating the two she sought as she wound her careful way over to them. Jazz sat in his usual spot, sipping his energon, looking around at the other students. Prowl sat in a warm sunbeam beside him, looking at his hands, which were folded neatly in his lap. His doorwings hung limp on his back. 

 

“Here, Prowl.” She spoke softly, trying not to startle him… but he still flinched to one side, looking up at her, his optics widening. She could just see the sliver of fear before his optics cleared.

 

“Miss Coral,” He replied respectively. Jazz looked up at her, smiling, “Hi Miss Coral!” He chirped. Coral watched as Prowl’s optics drifted down to her hands… and the cube of low grade she held. Unconsciously, he licked his lips.

 

“Go on, Prowl. Drink the cube.” she said firmly as she set it down in front of him, her field brushed reassuringly against his. Prowl’s optics followed the cube, and he reached out for it, before he hesitated and looked questioningly up at her again.

 

“For me?” 

 

Coral leaned forward, seeing Prowl’s lips move, barely able to hear him over the din of the other students.

 

“Yes, Prowl, enjoy.” her smile warmed Prowl’s spark as she nodded her helm firmly at him. He hesitantly took it, and sipped. Her spark ached for him, but she carefully kept her field pulled close as he looked up quickly at her, not wanting him to pick up any emotions from her that he could even possibly misconstrue. Still smiling, she nodded encouragingly. The little black and white youngling wasted no time gulping down the rest of the cube.

 

Seeing Prowl finish, Jazz bounced to his pedes. “Let’s go out to play!”

 

Smiling at his friend, Prowl rose as well. Turning to look shyly up at his teacher before his gaze dropped, “Thank you.” He whispered softly, optics on her pedes.

 

“You’re welcome, Prowl. Go have fun, class will start again soon.” She admonished them. A slight smile graced her face as she watched them scamper away. 

 

Clouds passed over the sun, casting drifting shadows down on the yard, gently pushed by the soft breeze. Prowl slowly followed Jazz around the play equipment to where a small group of students milled. Some were in the class with them, others from different classes. Jazz waved Prowl closer. 

 

“Prowler an’ I’ll play too.” Jazz said to them as he bounced on his pede tips in the bright afternoon sun, his shadow intertwining with the others. Prowl stood awkwardly apart, watching.

 

A black mechling with purple highlights cycled his optics. “He’s on your team, then.” He snorted as he tossed their ball onto the ground and kicked it to a teammate. Jazz raced off after the ball with a horde of other younglings, all pushing and shoving each other to get control of it. The bright sun shone down on them, sparkling off their light armour and blinding Prowl. He hesitated, raising a hand to his optics.

 

At first he only watched as they raced around, his doorwings flicking on his back. The fuel he’d drank raised his energy levels higher than they had been in orns, and he really, really, didn’t want to waste it running around. He watched as they swarmed over the yard, calculating when he could intercept the ball, and moved there. Prowl kicked the ball in a random direction, the swarm tripping over itself in its haste to change direction. Several younglings fell over their playmates.

 

“Hey!” hollered one of them, “You kicked it in the wrong direction!” He started laughing as his team intercepted the ball and kicked it into a goal. “Thanks!”

 

Confused, Prowl just stood in the middle of the field as the others untangled themselves, their shadows casting dark patterns on the ground.

 

Jazz, one of those who had fallen, yelled, “Our goal is tha’ way!” as he pointed behind Prowl from where he sprawled on the ground at Prowl’s pedes.

 

Growling and sending him disgusted looks, several other younglings shot off again, the lot of them off chasing the ball in a mindless horde. Prowl stood still for a few klicks, watching them before he turned to walk off the field.  But before he could get far, they were back. The ball they were chasing about hit his leg, rebounding back toward the other younglings and he squealed in surprise, shying away.

 

“Kick it!” Yelled the same black youngling as before. “You’re useless.” He snapped as he slid on the ground before Prowl, glaring at him before he collected himself and raced off.

 

Prowl stared after the other younglings, his doorwings shuddering. As he turned to continue his treck back to the building, he could hear them shouting encouragement or insults to each other, the game continuing on without him. He trudged past the playground, optics lowered, as the other younglings screeched and romped without a care.

 

He stopped to stand beside a wall near the entrance to the school, in the shadow of the school.  The cool wall leached the heat of the sun's warmth from his armour where he leaned his shoulder against it. His helm lowered, and brow creased as thoughts rolled in an endless loop though his processor. Running pedesteps had him raising his helm quickly, but it was only Jazz. He returned to contemplate his pedes, his shoulder still pressed firmly against the wall.

 

“Hey, don’ cha want to play?” Jazz chirped, cocking his helm to one side as he bounced from one pede to the other, venting heavily from his run from the field to Prowl’s side.

 

“I can watch from here.” Prowl replied sturdily, his doorwings flaring out with his words, his back still turned to his friend.

 

Jazz just stared at him, lips pursed as he bounced on his pede tips. 

 

“Hey, Jazz!!” a voice shouted from the field. Jazz turned to wave at the other youngling, then leaned casually on the cool wall of the building behind Prowl.

 

“Aren’t you playing with them?” Prowl inquired, a slight frown graced his lips as he shifted to rest his back against the wall.

 

“Nah, tired of it.” Jazz smiled over at him, and they stood shoulder to shoulder, watching the others run about in the bright sunlight.

 

“Jazz?” Prowl asked suddenly, as he blinked at the confusing mass of screaming sparklings running all around, still enjoying the bright sun and fresh air, before they returned to their classes, and had to sit still.

.

“Yeah, Prowler?” Jazz bounced a little, a perpetual bundle of energy ready to explode in all directions. A cheerful grin split his faceplates as he watched his quiet friend.

 

“Would you miss me if I were gone?” Prowl asked, staring at Jazz, his back pressed into the cool wall of the school rising high above them, cutting the sun’s warm rays off and chilling his frame.

 

“What’cha mean?” Jazz stopped bouncing and just stared at Prowl, visor bight. He shivered a little, crossing his arms and rubbing his hands on his upper arms as the afternoon light dimmed, clouds drifting over the sun, hiding the sun’s dancing light.

 

“If I didn’t come back, ever, would you miss me?” Prowl pressed, straightening as his doorwings flared out to frame his helm, his optics locked on Jazz.

 

Jazz looked at him oddly, “Course I would Prowl! You’re my friend.” His frown deepened, worry creasing his faceplates.

 

They stood staring at each other, a yawning chasm grew between them, and the worlds they inhabited. Prowl was still silent when the bell rang, ending recess. He waited until the others had rushed in, before he commenced his stately trek to their class. Jazz trailed behind Prowl, the two the last to return.

 

Miss Coral smiled warmly at them as they entered, Prowl calm, and Jazz oddly subdued. She frowned slightly, wondering what could have happened over recess. She had looked out at them once, and seen them talking by the school playgrounds. Shaking her helm to clear her thoughts, she waved the two to their seats and began the lessons for the afternoon.

 

As Coral made her rounds of the classroom, quietly offering assistance or encouragement as needed, she stopped by Prowl’s desk. He sat quietly looking out the window, watching the clouds drift by.  As usual, he had finished his work early.

 

She leaned close so only he could hear, “Prowl, can you please stay back for a moment when class is over?”

 

Prowl stared at her, before he nodded, once. Jazz looked questioningly at them, barely restraining himself from speaking.

 

“Jazz, pay attention to your work, please.” She admonished him.

 

Quickly his optics dropped down, but not before he flicked a concerned look at his friend. 

 

As her rowdy class exited the room for the day, Jazz and Prowl approached her desk hesitantly. Pursing her lips at Jazz’s obvious worry, she waved gently to the young Praxian to come closer. “Go on Jazz, Prowl will be done soon.” She nodded toward the classroom door and watched the youngling hesitantly leave his friend, only to hover just outside the closed door before turning to the black and white Praxian youngling standing tensely in front of her desk.

 

“You’re not in trouble, Prowl.” she said gently to the nervous youngling with a reassuring smile. “I have an exciting offer for you. One we don’t make often.” Her optics lit with her excitement.

 

“I’ve noticed how quickly you get done with your work,” she went on. “And it is always very well done. But it’s not very challenging, is it?” She asked.

 

“It's ok,” Prowl whispered, looking down at her desk, not wanting to agree with her. His doorwings danced nervously on his back, and he licked his lips as he fidgeted with his data pad.

 

“Now Prowl, I’ve spoken to the director and I think you’d find the work in the next class much more challenging.” She smiled eagerly at him, but his forehead creased in puzzlement and he frowned slightly at her.

 

“What do you think of moving to the next grade level?” she asked him directly, with a proud smile.

 

Prowl stood quietly before her desk, his wings drooping until they were almost flat against his back. He cast a quick look to the closed door, knowing Jazz was hovering outside, waiting for him to join him.

 

“Can Jazz come?” He finally asked Miss Coral, looking back at her. He knew the answer would be no, before she even said anything. Slowly she shook her helm, optics sad. “No my dear, Jazz is in the right grade, he would not do well in a more advanced class.” She replied gently. “You would still see him at lunch time and recess, however.”

 

Prowl frowned slightly in disappointment. “No thank you.” He finally said, looking down at his data pad.

 

“No?” Miss Coral inclined her helm to one side and then nodded slowly. “Very well. But please continue to not distract the others when you are finished, I really do appreciate that. And, I do have something for you.” With a small flourish and a smile she pulled out a data pad and handed it to him.

 

Prowl took it carefully, as if afraid it would bite him. Lifting her chin she stated, “Have your creator sign it, and return it. Then you can be on the free meal program we have here.” Prowl jerked his helm up and stared at her, even his doorwings frozen. 

 

“I don’t have to pay for my energon?” He asked, optics wide.

 

“Nope. Just have him sign that and return it to me. I’ll do the rest.” She smiled gently at his dumbfounded look. “It's ok, Prowl. The program is here for families who need it.”  _ And you most definitely do.  _ “Have a good rest of your orn,” she finished, dismissing him with a kind smile as she reached for one of the data pads to grade.

 

Prowl clutched the data pad to his chest, optics hopeful as he turned to go, “Good orn.” He said, before pausing by the door. He turned back to her, door wings held high. “Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome, Prowl.” Coral smiled at him as he carefully stepped out of the classroom, and laughed a little, as Jazz’s voice drifted in through the open door as he grilled his friend.

 

Outside the classroom, Jazz was bouncing on his pedes.  Twenty-million questions falling from his lips as he lead the way down the hall, to the outer doors where he would meet his carrier, dancing the whole way beside his companion who was walking carefully behind him. There was no skip, no dance in Prowl’s step just slow and deliberate, but almost light now. And he carefully held the data pad tight to his chest, watchful to make sure his rambunctious friend didn’t knock into it.

 

Prowl drove to the apartment building and tiredly transformed. He staggered slightly, then caught himself before he fell. He walked to the apartment entrance, no longer noticing the scent of mech fluid and garbage that permeated this part of his world now. His processor clocked over time, as he waited for the elevator, trying to think of a way to get Slipknot to sign the note. 

 

The elevator lumbered painfully to a stop on his floor, Prowl quickly hopped out, the thought of being caught in it for another trip was unbearable. He entered his apartment, shutting the door as quietly as possible and looked around. But Slip wasn’t home yet, his usual spot by the refrigerator was empty. Prowl paused to consider the ancient appliance. His tanks were still settled from the cube Miss Coral had given him, and his fuel level was at 50% - low enough other younglings would be yammering for a cube. But Prowl knew he could let his levels drop even farther before he needed to fuel. He would wait. He didn’t really want to consume the mid grade just yet. It upset his tanks so badly. And it was so hard for his systems to process it… Yes, he would wait until he had to fuel.

 

Prowl quietly went to his room. He picked up a history data pad, but the light hung from the ceiling cast little light for him to read by. Pursing his lips, Prowl looked around his tiny room thoughtfully. Hesitantly, he walked to the living room and stood before the heavy curtain that tried to block all light from entering the room. The moment he moved the heavy fabric out of his way, a dense cloud of dust billowed up and he coughed violently to clear his vents.

 

Prowl settled on the small window ledge, the heavy curtains falling close behind him, his vents still stuttering occasionally from the dank odor coming from the curtains. The cheerful sunlight lit his data pad as he read, hidden.

 

*****

 

Prowl was deep into his book file when he heard Slipknot enter the apartment, grumbling. “Fragging idiots. Stubborn aft hole.” Not sure what had set his guardian off, Prowl froze in place, listening. Prowl heard the refrigerator wheeze pathetically as Slipknot opened it, and thump when he let the door fall shut as he left the kitchen. Slipknot banged on Prowl’s bedroom door before flinging it open, as usual. There was a long silence. Prowl held his hands over his mouth as to keep completely quiet. 

 

“Where the frag is that brat?” Slipknot muttered as he entered the washracks and slammed the door shut.

 

Prowl quickly tucked his bookfile into his subspace along with the data pad from Miss Coral, and slipped soundlessly from his perch, the musty curtain falling heavily back to its original position. He tiptoed down the short hallway and slipped into his room. But before he could close the door, Slipknot left the washracks.

 

The older mech froze in the doorway, then jerked farther back into the room, his optics widening. His armour flared slightly, and Prowl felt his surprise flick across his field. 

 

“What the frag?” Slip looked confused. “Where the pit have you been?”

 

Prowl smiled slightly, lowering his optics to study his pedes. “I’ve been here the whole time.” He replied quietly.

 

“Whatever.” Slipknot cycled his optics, shaking his helm, then he spun on his heel and strode to the door, pushing Prowl out of his way. “Come on, I’ve got some errands to run for the boss.” He grunted.

 

Grinning from audio to audio Prowl trotted after him as they left the dingy apartment. 

 

******

 

Bouncing in Slipknot’s cab as his foster creator lurched over the rough road, Prowl watched out the windows, his quick wash had only smeared them instead of cleaning them off, making it even harder to see out.

 

The storefronts, covered with bars to keep robbers from breaking in, the life slowly draining from them, transitioned into decrepit buildings, long abandoned and condemned by the city. Sunlight shone through the broken glass and holes in the buildings, cleansing the empty rooms within. A few blocks past the last abandoned apartment building, crumbling slowly to the ground, an old dilapidated structure squatted in an empty lot. 

 

Prowl couldn’t help but smile slightly at the greying sign, picture long since faded. The pocketed words were hard to read, but he knew what it said: 16 West. In better days, the venue may have been a nice restaurant or bar… But that was long ago. Now, the walls still stood, even if they leaned tiredly in, and the roof didn’t leak too badly, just sagged sadly under the weight of its years. 

 

Slipknot stopped at the curb and Prowl jumped out before the older mech could push him out. A slight breeze took away the rotting stench of this dreary section of Iacon, leaving only a fresh, clean scent behind. The youngling was quickly at the heavy door where a large mech waited, holding it open for him, before Slipknot even finished transforming. The bouncer smiled slightly down at the little youngling, his armour relaxed. Even though he sported several deep scars in his heavy armor, he looked less threatening to Prowl than many other mechs he’d met.  “Git ya to th’ bar. Keeps lookin’ for ya.” his sharp red optics hardening to steel as he glared at the adult following Prowl, and stepped back into the dark room behind him allowing the door to fall shut. He grinned widely, flashing sharp teeth as the heavy door slammed shut in Slipknot’s faceplates, leaving him to curse outside.

 

Slipknot threw the door open and snarled his engine at the bouncer, careful not to appear too threatening, as he followed Prowl into the bar. He paused for a click, as his optics adjusted to the dimly light room. Prowl had already trotted to the bar and fearlessly crawled up into a tall chair, his little doorwings flaring to help his balance. Beside him sat a dark purple, almost black mech in the dim lighting, scarred armour and hard red optics which speared Slipknot before turning back to the youngling. Slipknot snorted as he walked to the barstool beside Prowl.

 

“Gimme some high grade,” he said, sneering down at the youngling. The large mass of the other patron shifted a tiny bit as he ran his optics over Slipknots frame, before completely disregarding him. The bartender lurched over, handing Slipknot a cube full of hazy high grade.

 

His lip lifted into a sneer as he took it, and turned to walk into the darkness beyond, completely disregarding the youngling.

 

“Afthole.” The bar keeper growled as he shoved a cube of low grade at Prowl, sparkling in the dim lighting.

 

Prowl smiled up at him, taking the cube in both hands. “Thank you.” he replied politely, as he sipped it. The lovely scent of fresh low grade filled his nasal sensors. A slight frown graced his lips as his brow furrowed, his processor yanked back to the problem of getting Slipknot to sign anything.

 

The other patron, sitting quietly next to him ran his red optics over the slight frame of the little black and white Praxian seated next to him. The dents and scrapes on the lightweight armour pulled close, his dull paint did not reflect even the dim light in the bar as a healthy youngling’s armour would. 

 

He shot a look at the bar keeper as he took a sip of his high grade. The old mech jerked his helm with a sharp nod. “He just showed up one day.” He grunted. “With him in tow.” He looked over at Prowl, who was frowning as he played with his cube, watching the pretty fluid roll around.

 

“What’s bothering ya?” The bar keeper carefully cleaned a used energon cube, wiping it down with one towel before switching to a soft, clean towel for a final wipe down before putting it with others on a shelf under the bar.

 

Prowl’s doorwings trembled, sinking low on his back. ”The school gave me something for Slipknot to sign, but I don’t think he will.” He replied, optics lowering to the scuffed but clean bar top. He traced a particularly deep scratch in the bar the a digit tip, briefly wondering what had caused it.

 

“What is it for?” The strange mech sitting beside him rumbled, softening his field as he brushed it gently against the youngling.

 

Prowl shuffled his cube around in his hands and he looked up to meet the stranger’s red optics before quickly dropping them again. “It's… um.. A free cube at lunch at school.” He mumbled.

 

“Hmmm.” The stranger shared a glance with the bar keeper. “Tell you what, you fill in all the important parts, and I’ll sign it for him.”

 

Prowl jerked his helm up to stare at mech beside him, doorwings flaring up and out, waving, “But that’s not right!” 

 

Snickering into his cube of high grade, the stranger waved for Prowl to get moving. Frowning, Prowl pulled the data pad from his subspace and turned it out. The dark purple mech leaned back with a sharp vent. Scowling even more, he ran a light scan over the youngling. 

 

Feeling an odd tingling, Prowl looked up, only to see the older mech scowling darkly at him. He cringed back, quickly looking down to his hands, as his doorwings fell. “I’m sorry.” he whispered.

 

“Why?” the mech carefully modulated his voice as the youngling cringed before him. 

“I’m not mad at you,” he said, extending his field once again to encompass the youngling, optics still dark with the disapproval that he did not allow to enter his field.

 

“Prowl,” the lilting tones of the femme startled them both.

 

“Good evening, Vibes,” the Praxian youngling replied politely, looking up at the brightly colored femme who settled on his other side, a sharp blade to protect him from other customers of the bar as they filed in.

 

The mech beside Prowl inspected the brightly colored femme. She caught his optic and smiled flirtatiously. “I take it you two know each other?” he rumbled

 

“We’re neighbors - “ Prowl began, before a heavy hand on his shoulder interrupted him. Startled, Prowl leaned back, into the purple mech’s side. Vibes growled slightly at the intruder who pushed his way in between them.

 

“Slipknot wants you,” the new mech stated, before ordering high grade, his yellow plating dark in the dim lighting.

 

Prowl carefully placed the finished data pad on the bar and resealed his cube of low grade. Swiftly he slipped away and disappeared into the darkness beyond, followed by the yellow mech.

 

Vibes casually slid over, settling her hip on Prowl’s chair and smiled at the stranger as she picked up Prowl’s cube, sealing it further by placing her thumb over the cover.

 

“Come here often?” She purred at the mech, smiling warmly at him.

 

“Often enough,” he answered, his optics warming as he studied her… and changed to approving as his optics drifted down to her hand. Waving at the bar keeper, he ordered them both another drink. Vibes smiled and leaned forward to take the cube of high grade with her free hand, Prowl’s cube of low grade pulled close to her side.

 

Several klicks later Prowl slipped up beside Vibes and looked up at her, doorwings raised questioningly. She smiled down at him, and stepped away from his seat, setting his cube down carefully beside his data pad.

 

“What’s that?” She asked, nodding at it.

 

“It's to sign me up for a free cube at school lunch,” Prowl replied as the dark purple mech picked it up and scrolled to the bottom.

 

“What's your sire’s designation?” he queried.

 

Prowl scowled deeply at his words. “He's not my sire.” He snapped with a dark glare at the older mech, “Slipknots my guardian.” His scowl deepened as he considered the mech in the limited lighting of the bar.

 

Humming softly to himself, he picked up the data pad and signed Slipknot's name glyph before he handed the pad back to Prowl with a flourish. 

 

Prowl inspected it before subtly slipping it back into his subspace. The stranger narrowed his optics, drawing in a sharp vent as he pretended not to see.

 

Prowl had just looked up, startled by the soft sound beside him to lock optics with the stranger as Vibes leaned in from the other side, oblivious to their silent communication when a loud crunch followed by a dark chuckle came from behind them.

 

Prowl immediately tensed, leaning into the soothing field beside him.

 

“That's disgusting.” Vibes commented drily, as she turned to scowl at the smirking bouncer.

 

The bar keeper passed a pan over the bar, “That’s another one for you,” he said.

 

“Nuh uh.” shaking his helm at him, the huge scarred grey mech carefully scraped the glitch mouse off his pede and floor. “Eleven."

 

“Now how do you figure that?” the bar keeper snarked. “There’s not enough left there for there to be eleven.”

 

The purple almost black mech beside Prowl snorted and said, “Looks like only one.”

 

“Glitch mice are always carrying. I got 11 with one step.”

 

Vibes rolled her optics. “Primus,” she groaned, disgust lacing her field.

 

Prowl just stared at the two arguing mechs, his lips pursed and a crease on his forehead. His doorwings, which had frozen were now flicking again. He felt the amusement laced field beside him, and when Vibes leaned back away from the remains, he could feel her disgust mirroring his.

 

Slipknot staggered up then from his lair deep in the belly of the bar, snarling, “We’re leaving,” as he jerked his helm toward the door where one of his associates, the yellow mech named Swindle, lounged against the wall.

 

A heavy hand pressed into Prowl’s thin shoulder plating, pinning him in his chair.

 

“You’re overcharged.” stated the other mech. “You’re in no shape to be transporting a youngling.” His hand effectively kept Prowl in place. 

 

Prowl whimpered and tried to wiggle free, his optics warily watching his unstable guardian.

 

“Wha’ do you expect me to do with him, then?” snapped Slipknot. “I guess he can walk home then.” he shrugged in dismissal and turned to leave, disregarding the disapproval from the others.

 

Prowl unconsciously whimpered as Slipknot left him behind without a backward glance.

 

Venting heavily, the big mech stared darkly after him for a click, before turning to Vibes and handed her a credstick.

 

“Is this enough?” He queried.

 

She cycled her optics at the amount. “To do what?” she asked suspiciously as she raised her chin and frowned at him, her other fist planted on her hip.

 

“Take the youngling home. Put him to bed, and stay home. Get off the street for the night. Get him to school on time tomorrow.”

 

She stared. “Yes.” she finally answered, quietly. “But what do you want?” 

 

“Nothing.”

 

Her optics flashed, her scowl deepened. Prowl looked from one to the other, optics wide.

 

“Vibes.” 

 

She turned her helm to the old bar keeper, where he leaned casually on the bar in front of them.

 

“It's ok. I know what he is. You can trust him.”

 

Vibes gave them both a long, intense stare. “Come on, Prowl.” she waggled the credstick at him. “We’re leaving now. If I’m getting the night off, I’m going to make the most of it.”

 

Prowl’s little doorwings framed his helm with shock as he slid from his chair. “But, why?”

 

“Don't ask,” Vibes interrupted. “Just say thank you and let’s go.” She held out her hand to take his and led him from the bar. 

  
  


********

 

_ Check background, mech designation Slipknot. _

 

_ He’s been picked up, driving while intoxicated… keeping him overnight. _

 

_ Good. Check youngling, designation Prowl. Guardian: Slipknot. Attending school in the area. Link to file, Slipknot. _

 

_ Description? _

 

_ Black and white, Praxian frame type. Notify Youngling Protective Services. Observed use of subspace. _

 

_ Frag me. In a youngling?! _

 

_ Affirmative. Locate and detain. Shield and protect, he is in danger. _

 

_ Understood. Out. _

 

The big mech remained stationary for several more clicks, his vents ghosting in the crisp air of the night. He finally drove away, back into the bright lights of the rowdy city. He had work to do.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been passed around a bit. Autobot Chromia gave it to Nikki2010, who in turn gave it to me. I took the bit and ran with it. Nikki remains as my Beta for the story.


End file.
